


My Nail Lady

by DearDiary



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Awkward Romance, Did I say occasional?, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, John Swears A Lot, Nail Technician AU, Occasional swearing, Pining, Romance, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearDiary/pseuds/DearDiary
Summary: His job wasn’t fancy. It paid the bills. It let him roam the world for three weeks every year during his vacation.Obviously, it didn’t allow John a better office.But better office meant no Rose...John rubbed his hands on his face angrily and muttered “Christ, I’m pining for a girl who doesn’t even remember my existence unless she sees me sitting behind the desk."
Relationships: John Smith/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 22
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I tried to play with the title of this fic and thought about the movie "My Fair Lady" with Audrey Hepburn, so here we go, "My Nail Lady".  
> I asked around Tumblr and the people told me that the person who gives you a manicure is called "a nail technician", "a nail tech", "manicurist" and there are also more casual options like "manicure girl" and "my nail lady". I love the last one so much, I decided to name the fic with this option.  
> I don't usually write Ten x Rose but I really wanted to try something romantic that can only be portrayed by Ten x Rose dynamics. As my friend said earlier today, Ten x Rose is like a good romcom while Nine x Rose is all about drama and pining and gentle angst.  
> Here it is, folks. All the mistakes belong to me.  
> Hope you like it! xoxo

John Smith, or the Doctor, as his colleagues and rivals nicknamed him for his love of scrutinising the smallest of details with the precision of a surgeon, was sitting in the office chair, staring through the glass wall.

It probably wasn’t wise. His third client for that day, Mrs Louise Chatterley, was dabbing her tears away with a lacy handkerchief, and, though the lady tried her best to look presentable, she looked the picture of misery. Her husband of four years, Mr Charles Chatterley, had cheated on her, and that was the reason for her distraught. True, Louse cheated on Mr Chatterley’s wife five years ago, but after the previous marriage of Charles was settled, Louise and Charles lived in a wedded bliss for three and a half years.

Some six months ago, Mrs Chatterley arrived home from visiting her relatives in another city. She wanted to greet her husband after a week of separation enthusiastically only to realise that another lady was there to meet her husband from work.

John couldn’t help sympathise but with Louise. She wasn’t bad, really, and many marriages were harmonious and balanced the second time around, so he couldn’t blame her for searching for her happiness (even if she found it in the other’s woman’s matrimony). But what really made John feel sorry for Mrs Chatterley was that she was genuinely heartbroken over a destroyed relationship with her husband. Louse hadn’t uttered a word about Charles’ money in the time that she spent in John’s office. She didn’t give a damn about the trust funds or that the rich bastard could leave her without a spare penny to spend.

That was why he chose to take her case. John sensed that he’d be able to arrange a hefty compensation and a clear name for Louise. John had a gut feeling that Charles would try to drag Louise’s name through dirt in the mass media.

John wouldn’t let him.

Louise sniffed ungracefully and pulled out another cotton hankie from her purse. John wondered about how many hankies were stashed there. The blue-eyed lady wiped the tears away from her face, fixed the loosened strands from her elegant updo and spoke tremulously.

“Mr Smith, thank you so much for taking my case. Oh, how I wish for this to be over soon! I’ll move away from London the instant we receive the divorce papers. My God, my life is a mess!  – the brown-haired woman pulled out a check book out of her purse, and John could barely stop himself from looking into the seemingly endless purse – where did the hankies come from, the purse was not bigger than a coin bag, – How much do I owe you, Mr Smith?”

He shook himself out of the silly musings and turned his attention to Mrs Chatterley immediately. “I take the payment after the case is closed, Mrs Chatterley, – her married name made her teary-eyed again, and John corrected his mistake hastily, - Louise. If we win the case, and I really should say “when”, because the facts and the evidence are on your side. The amount hasn’t changed, and I take 50% on top of the original price if the case is successful. So, you needn’t worry now. The first hearing isn’t until next Thursday, and you’ve got over a week to calm your nerves. Go visit your relatives or book a tour somewhere, just...unwind.” Blimey. His job required John to be a psychologist sometimes, too. Still, he’d prefer a teary-eyed Louise to any smug bastard or a cheap liar who’d try to scam their parents’ money any day.

Mrs Chatterley smiled tightly, nodded her head in “thanks” and vacated his office quietly. John relaxed his shoulders. He didn’t even realise he had raised them almost up to his ears. He didn’t like seeing people cry. And he never knew what to do with weeping women for sure, and there were a couple of incidents when John was slapped for supplying wrong words of consolation.  He rubbed his cheek, remembering a particularly nasty slap. 

John plopped down in his chair and wished for the air conditioner to work properly. 

His wish wasn’t granted.

The heatwave in London made him feel sticky and itchy all over. It didn’t help that he was required to wear a suit to uphold a strict reputation. John loosened the tie and raked his hands through his unruly hair. Still, he was glad he opted for not using hair gel in this blasting heat. He’d have sticky hair problem, too, and that...

And that was her!

The girl he was waiting for! 

The nail technician. The blonde nail technician. The pretty brown-eyed blonde nail tech...

_ Stop it! _

The girl in question looked up from her table and smiled kindly at him. He stretched his lips in an awkward reply and waved pathetically for good measure.

The moment he did so, he wanted to slap himself. He was acting like a teenage boy with a crush, not as a 33-year-old lawyer. Then he mentally slapped himself again. Why the hell was his career choice important?

Rose, and he knew her name because of the shiny nametag she sported on her uniform T-shirt, looked away when a colleague asked her  something . Rose, he sighed dreamily. She got the starring role in his daydreams.

Rose hadn’t been working all that long in the mall where he rented his office, but John spent enough time admiring her through the glass. He couldn’t boast about knowing her, but you’d be surprised how much you can learn about a person just by observing them. 

Rose was blonde. Bottle blonde, to be precise. She was kind, and warm aura surrounded her. She tended to smile a lot, and wasn’t a big fan of conflicts and scandals that were a huge part of her job. She sulked when the ladies from the travelling agency down the hall snickered at her and other manicurists at the open nail parlour in the shopping centre. John didn’t like her feeling down or insecure. He knew for sure that the most eligible of jobs didn’t mean the people doing them were superior in any way. Quite the opposite, if you were to believe his experience. And he worked with a lot of people. Not all of them were kind-hearted and honourable. Some pretended to be so, and, to his great shame, John pegged Louisa as a brilliant pretender at first. Thought she was caring only about her husband’s money.

She wasn’t. Now it was up to John to help Louise get divorced with Charley. The complication that required John’s assistance was that another divorce meant bad publicity for Mr Chatterley. Did he mention that this wasn’t Charles Chatterley’s fourth marriage? Four wives in 14 years, quite scandalous for a university professor. Would any of the fathers let their daughters tutor their daughters personally from the moment they knew of his way with women? Hardly. Old Charley was able to bury the news of his first two divorces, and only the one preceding Louise’s marriage was known to the people. Now he would try his best to make Louise the guilty one in their seemingly failing marriage.

Now, you are probably wondering why in the world would anyone choose to turn to a lawyer in a crappy office in the shopping centre.

You are probably right. John Smith, 33, a lawyer, seemed nothing more than a pretty (he hated when people used that word to describe him) skinny bloke with great hair (he liked that description) in sexy specs and a penchant to pinstripes and plimsolls.

But John Smith’s services were  _ affordable _ , and he had enough of benefactors to protect him from the sharks of the business world. He graduated from the Academy with honours, and didn’t take any offers to work under the supervision of the high and mighty of the advocate world.

It wasn’t pretty, his job, by all means, it was sometimes brutal, sometimes mind-numbing, sometimes plain crazy what with the mess people could get themselves into by mistake or knowingly. John’s policy allowed people from the lower class get the chance to stand up to the bullies from the richer people.  His job wasn’t fancy. It paid the bills. It let him roam the world for three weeks every year during his vacation.

Obviously, it didn’t allow John a better office.

But better office meant no Rose...

John rubbed his hands on his face angrily and muttered “Christ, I’m pining for a girl who doesn’t even remember my existence unless she sees me sitting behind the desk”.

He dared to look at Rose one more time. She didn’t notice him. 

Probably because she was attending to a customer. John squinted, then realised that he had his glasses on. He could see fine without the glasses if he needed to look at something from afar. The letters seemed to scatter and mesh on the paper when he was looking at them closely, though.

Ah. The red-haired woman. John knew that client. She was a boisterous and loud woman who had a sharp tongue and quick wit. How did he know that? Well, the glass panels were thin and allowed the sound waves travel freely to his office, especially if he opened the door. And the door was opened these past few days so John swore he knew what Minnie’s grandchildren were up to, where one could buy the cheapest cherry tomatoes in the whole of London, whose husband snore at night and whose husband entertained more than one wife, and this and that...

Also, John learned of some stories and gossip the nail ladies shared among themselves when the nail parlour would fall  quiet sometime after lunch.

The cheeky women made him turn a fascinating shade of beetroot  _ all the time _ . John Smith was no blushing virgin, and he dated now and again with all the consequences of dating life, but nothing seemed meaningful enough for him. God knew some of his clients fell for him, and that was difficult and embarrassing, but John prided himself in his working ethic, therefore, nothing more serious than an unwilling kiss happened with his clientele.

They worked and socialised in absolutely different circles, him and Rose.

Yet he was willing to bet that they could hit it off together easily and enjoy the ride. John felt the pressing need to get to know Rose, and he wondered when the day when he and Rose exchanged more than a friendly wave and a nod would come. And whether he’d live to see that day, really, because he turned into a pining mess each time Rose threw a smile into his direction. What would become of him if she was to speak with him?

Mental. 

He hoped for something miraculous to happen to let him and Rose meet together properly. Something. He wasn’t asking for much, was he?

Well, he didn’t know that the Universe was about to grant him his wish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone who's reading the story. Thank you for doing so, really.  
> I used the meet-cute prompt from @50-item-writing-prompts on Tumblr.  
> Hope you'll enjoy John and Rose's first proper meeting.

The day was dying, but the hustle and bustle of the shopping centre’s halls was far from its ending.

Many ladies attended the nail parlour, so John was able to stare at Rose all he wanted without the risk of being caught. She was lost in the world of swirls and flowers and nail varnish palettes. John loved looking at her in the process of work (that was if he wasn’t castigating himself for acting like a stalker). Rose would always stick her tongue out while working on something that required precision, and tended to mute out conversations that floated around her. That was the reason for many squabbles from the clients, too. Some ladies expected her to act as a therapist, too. Some were outright rude.

Just yesterday there was a shrilly-sounding woman who wanted a freaking painting replica on her ring finger, and Rose was stuck with her surly face and constant jittering.

John had no idea how Rose stayed calm. He’d snap before 30 minutes went by, really. Said lady was fidgeting incessantly and made a lot of unhappy comments about Rose’s work. At first, the woman didn’t like the way the chosen colour looked on her hands. Then she decided to move “the painting” to the index finger. She threw a tantrum when Rose and later the manager of the parlour told her that the re-drawing would cost her more money. When the scandal started to attract the attention of the people and the shop assistants, the security intervened. John was shocked. How could anyone make such a big deal out of the bleeding nail colour?

The shrieky lady left the parlour an hour later. She was positively fuming about not getting her way and getting warned by the security. John assumed that the only reason she hadn’t left earlier was because Rose had already finished one hand, and it would be hard to find the manicurist who’d have the exact same shade of polish somewhere else in that neighbourhood.

John shrugged nonchalantly. Good riddance.

It was around 8 o’clock, and John wasn’t expecting any clients to appear in his humble office. He didn’t want to go home yet because Rose was working until 9, and he fancied a daydream (an evening dream) about walking her to the bus stop. Chatting, even. Of course, it was all wishing and no doing for John. Somehow, he would lose all his confidence and chicken out every time the working day ended. 

Still, he could use spending some time on paperwork, and the stories the nail ladies shared between each other again in quiet voices lulled him into a gentle trance. John blinked, and the clock showed 20:49. Right. Time to go home.

He closed the glass door to his office and pulled out a set of keys to lock it. John heard hushed conversations and snickering when the keys fell out of his hands with a loud clank on the tiled floor. He knew that he blushed. He also knew that Shareen Costello (and he knew her full name because she actually went into his office the first  day she started working at the parlour to get acquainted. She outright flirted, but he wasn’t interested in anyone at that time. Now he was interested in Shareen’s best mate, Rose). Shareen always made a show of looking him up and down and smiling invitingly, but John would only smile cheerily and wave his hand while ducking into his office.

Right. Home. Maybe he’d be able to find the bravery to talk to Rose. To ask her out.

John scoffed. As if.

The ladies from the nail parlour were a flurry of activity in the hall. Each of the women were appointed a particular t-shirt colour, and there were four girls in the evening shift. Rose in a pink one, Shareen sported yellow, other two nail techs wore mint green and orange. John smiled crookedly. They reminded him of the tropical birds he had once seen in his travels to South America. They bickered a little, located two misplaced polish bottles and put out the instruments from the sanitising boxes to use the next day.

John stood there like an idiot, waiting. Damn it, he closed his office too early, and now he either had to leave without waiting for Rose or risk of being accused for stalking the women. He could pop to the loo, though...the girls would be at it for 10 minutes more at least, and he could make it back in slow stride in about 8 minutes. Then he could say good-bye to the security people and go out at the same time as Rose.

Oh, this was madness.

Nevertheless, he went back into the hall where his office was 9 minutes after and caught a splash of colour leaving out of the glass doors. Damn!

He ran to the doors just in time for the glass surface smack him right into the face.

“Oh my god!”

Rose!

“Are you alright, Mr Smith? God, what have I done? Are you hurt?”

Though his left cheek and nose hurt, John felt like smiling. Rose hit him in the face.

Brilliant! 

Now they could talk.

Warm hands were placed on his forearms, and he smelled a hint of flowery perfume in the air around him. He looked down on her and put on his best smile.

“No, no, I’m perfectly fine, Miss, - he made a show of looking at her badge and heard Shareen Costello suppress a snicker, - Rose.”

The blonde smiled in return and checked him for visible injuries. John straightened his pose and beamed at her. He then proceeded by sticking out his hand and introduced himself.

“I’m fine, really, please, don’t worry. And please, call me John, I’m way too young for you to call me Mr Smith. Besides, only my clients call me that, and you are not my client, not that I’m saying that you can’t be. I mean, - he stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, - I hope you won’t need my services, unless, of course, you don’t come into inheritance, then I’ll be surely glad to help.”

The silence surrounded the hall. Shareen and the others had vacated the place, and only the night guard stood near the wonderful glass doors (they were wonderful because they finally made his first conversation with Rose happen) and sighed in irritation because he couldn’t close the mall’s doors until both him and Rose went out.

Oh God. He was babbling this whole time!  Surely, she thought him an idiot by then!

But as John happened to mention earlier, Rose was kind and not prone to quick judging. Therefore, she stood there, looking up at his face, and was smiling rather charmingly at his antics. 

“I’m Rose then, not Miss Rose, if you don’t mind. Rose Tyler, - she shook his hand firmly as if asserting her character, - and I am really sorry about the door smacking thing.” She looked away like she was contemplating something. “Would you consider chips as a compensation for your injury? I really feel bad about it.”

John felt as if he’d burst from happiness any minute then.

He uttered a delighted “Brilliant!” and led Rose out of the doors, making the night guard happy too for seeing the last of the staff out.

_ Molto _ _ bene _ , indeed.

~

There was a small chippy just two blocks down from the mall, and John had never been happier to walk after work instead of driving home in his rusty car. 

Rose turned out to be even better than he imagined her in his daydreams. She was a good listener and didn’t seem to peg him as a babbling fool for all the words that continued to spill during their short walk. 

The evening was pleasant, and the setting sun made the heat dissipate, allowing the Londoners a first breath of fresh air in what seemed like ages. John wondered if Rose was getting chilled because the temperature went down noticeably, but she didn’t give any indication to her discomfort. 

Besides, they’d reached the destination. “ Daisy’s ” gleamed proudly in the disappearing daylight, and John gallantly opened the door before letting Rose in first. 

He’d never been to this place before so he took his time to roam the interior and the atmosphere with his eyes. The place was cramped and wasn’t posh by all means, but the aura of the chippy was welcoming and rather light. Rose left John sitting in the small booth while she went off to buy some chips and cola for them. He liked her for not sticking to some stupid fashionable diets that did more harm than good; and he felt at ease because she wasn’t acting all funny and a little bit snotty like the ladies he went on a date with did. This, however, wasn’t a date. John needed to stick his feet to the ground, otherwise he might scare Rose away before inviting her on an actual date. 

John was pulled back into the reality when Rose placed the plastic containers with chips and cans of cola. She pushed his portion towards him and smiled sheepishly. 

“Thank you,” John had finally managed to offer with a smile of his own. He watched as Rose saturated her chips with salt and a noticeable amount of vinegar. He preferred his just with some additional salt.

The chips turned out to be rather good. Maybe it was Rose’s presence that made the chips and the small café better. Rose looked pretty in her pink uniform shirt and under the diluted light of the yellow lights. Her lips were moving and she looked more worried with each passing minute. Why was she worried?

Oh! She was speaking to him the whole time he was lost in his thoughts.

Damn.

John cleared his throat and looked at Rose properly. “Sorry, what?”

“I say, are you sure you feel fine? I think I smacked you with that door rather hard. Maybe we ought to go see a doctor?”

He shook his head, firmly denying her anxieties.

“Nah, I’m fine, truly. Don’t worry. It takes something more serious than a glass door to knock me out for good. My pal Jack says that my head is made of cement; we’ve been through so many shenanigans aa students – you wouldn’t believe half the stories I told you.”

His companion grinned in reply. “I would love to hear one or two of those stories, - she supplied and gestured at him, - so, did you attend a college, then?” Rose then turned red and stuttered a little. “I mean, God, yes, you probably did, you’re a lawyer, for Christ’s sake, they don’t just give the degrees out to every wishing person,” the blonde laughed nervously and went quiet.

John smiled gently trying to catch her eye. “Don’t worry, I’m rather daft myself. The professors were shocked that I actually finished  uni what with my attention span and the hatred for everything tedious.” Finally, Rose peered at him and he beamed at her. “There you are!”

It was Rose’s turn to turn a pretty shade of pink. He decided to rescue her from the pit of embarrassment she found herself in.

“So, tell me a little about yourself, Rose Tyler. I’m ought to know more about the people I share working space with, in the end.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rose have an almost-date in the chippy - what else is new?  
> They tell each other about themselves.  
> Or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, people who read this, and thank you for doing so, really!  
> I present you chapter 3.  
> Thank you for your comments, they make me really happy.  
> Here we go, then. Enjoy!

Rose seemed even more flustered, if that was possible. John wondered why. Surely, Rose couldn’t be shy – there was no way that an attractive and outgoing girl like her was feeling insecure on a date. It wasn’t even a date! Maybe she was still embarrassed about the glass door accident. Blimey, worried John quietly, how does one make the other forget about the accident they were agitated by that was actually a blessing to the other? 

Things were getting complicated even before the actual things started. 

Damn! 

Meanwhile, Rose gathered her bearings, sat a little straighter and smiled charmingly at John. 

“I’m nothing interesting, I promise, John. I’m Rose Tyler, a nail lady with little to no experience, a 22-year-old defeated by the adulthood, – she chuckled, and it wasn’t a nice laugh, she sounded self-derogatory and her words were full of insecurity, – that’s who I am. I can’t say I hate this job, but I wish I was someone else, really. Or at least was working someplace else. I can’t stand people looking down at me at the mall all the time.” 

John wanted to put his palm on her fisted hands but didn’t think it was appropriate to do so. They weren’t acquainted for too long, and he didn’t want to be perceived as a pushy admirer. 

Nevertheless, he had something to say. 

“Rose Tyler, as a lawyer, I can tell that the words “I’m nothing interesting”, “I’m not sure” and “I know what I’m about to say is stupid and full of mistakes” is a communicational suicide. Never start any important speech that way.” 

When he glanced at her astonished face, he backpedalled with the speed of light. 

Damn! He was an idiot that day! 

“Not that I’m trying to act all teacherly on you. I’m not, I swear, it’s just that you don’t seem that common and uninteresting, that is, and I don’t want you to sell yourself short. So, Rose Tyler, let’s try again.” 

He absolutely didn’t bollock this up. Not at all. 

Then, to John’s enormous surprise and amusement, Rose laughed. Loudly, without restraint, winning some judgemental and some amused glances from the people in the café. 

She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes and smiled whole-heartedly at him. Grinned so hard it seemed her face was straining. 

Rose put her palm on the back of his hand. “John, you are something else, – she giggled again, as if barely holding herself from doing so, – I really like that, though.” She paused again, this time biting her lower lip insecurely. “I like you, Mr Smith,” this time, Rose smiled mischievously, but John could see she was worried about her previous words. 

Right. He needed to give his two cents in this conversation. 

“I like that too, Rose, – he finished the sentence abruptly, checking to see what her reaction was. She deflated visibly when she thought he wouldn’t continue, and John jumped at the opportunity to let her see that he was interested, – and I like you, too, Miss Tyler.” 

Oh. Oh! Her smile at that moment seemed so bright he thought the lights at the café dimmed momentarily, defeated by Rose’s shine. 

He cleared his throat and offered “Why don’t you try again? To tell about yourself, that is.” 

Rose’s delighted look dulled a little, overcome by evident surprise. “You really do care, John, don’t you?” 

The lawyer only smiled warmly in return. 

The nail lady started her story again. 

~ 

It was dark when the duo went out of the café, and John’s wristwatch told him it was 22:38. Time sure flew by when he spent it with Rose. He truly wanted to prolong the evening, but Rose yawned three times in the past twenty minutes of their meeting and apologised profusely for doing so. Of course, John told her it was no problem, it was only natural she felt tired after the day of tending to her clients wishes and working six days a week for 10 hours a day. Rose also admitted receiving the customers on her only day off sometimes, especially if her mum asked really nice to give manicure to one of her friends. John asked Rose why she spent so much time working, especially since she had some clients she could tend to at home, somewhere where she was comfortable enough and not bullied like she was in the mall parlour. Rose shrugged noncommittally and muttered something about having less time to fall for stupid things. John thought it wise not to ask further. He felt that it was something Rose didn’t like talking about explicitly, and as he mentioned earlier, he had to be a psychologist in his field of work sometimes. 

So, naturally, he left her alone. 

Not literally, of course. 

It was rather late, and John was brought up to be a perfect specimen of a gentleman. Not that he was always behaving so, truth be told. He cursed a lot (and in front of the ladies, no less – his dear grandmother would have had a heart attack if she knew just what kind of expletives he used in his speech), he sometimes didn’t call after a date that went catastrophically wrong, and, moreover, he didn’t always buy flowers for his dates when he was supposed to. Mostly because he was always late to those dates, and one time when he decided to be late but to be armoured with a bunch of pretty lilies, his lady of the night sneezed and cried allergic tears while (for sure) hating him for that throughout the evening (it was one of those rendezvous when he ghosted the woman afterwards. Shame on him, really, but she was rather stiff-minded and dull to his liking. The lilies were just a catalyst.) 

So, back to John (supposedly) being a gentleman. 

His car was parked not far from the mall. 

“It’s rather late, Rose, – he enjoyed the way his tongue caressed the round diphthong of her name, – I could give you a lift home, if you want to. My car is two minutes from the shopping centre.” 

Please, say yes. Oh, please. 

However, his pleas fell on deaf ears. 

“Thank you, John, but I think I would take the bus. I still have time to catch the one before the last one.” Then, after seeing John’s crushed face, she offered a compromise. “Walk me to the bus stop?” 

The blonde couldn’t contain a smile that bloomed on her face at watching the man preen visibly. Blokes. They all wanted to be needed and impressive. Rose knew that first-hand. 

She was rather happy to endure John’s impressiveness, truth be told. 

The walk to the bus stop was slightly awkward that reminded John of his university years. He had still been pretty lanky and had two left feet when he entered the uni; and God knew he had plenty of crushes on the girls from senior years. 

John remembered almost painfully on how he tried to woo Jeanne (suitably nicknamed Reinette by her peers), the girl who was an exchange student from France, descendant of some posh and respected bloodline. Jeanne wasn’t particularly rude or anything, she didn’t really insult him, but she didn’t let him down gently, either. He could recollect almost every word of what she told him. “You’re you, John, and I’m me. We couldn’t possibly hit it off together, if that’s the right way of putting it in English. There are plenty of girls around, really, so you shouldn’t be interested in me,” saying that, she almost curtsied (that wasn’t strange at all, he mused after thinking her behaviour through) and went on her merry way to the clique of the wealthy blokes who were waiting for her by the gates. 

John was crushed, honestly, and went to bed feeling rejected after looking at his reflection in the dormitory room. He was skinny, but he wasn’t unattractive at all. He had brown unruly hair that he styled with gel on the good days and the glasses that made him look like a sexy geek. John knew some of the ladies of his year in uni fancied him, but he was a dreamer – and dreamed big, therefore, he wanted to dream about Jeanne. 

Now, John fantasised about Rose being his girl. He would love to court her properly because it was obvious that she wasn’t spoiled by good attitude from men. Rose hadn’t said anything of the like, no, that was a shrewd guess of his own, after all, he wasn’t far from getting a degree in psychology due to his working experience. 

He realised that Rose was out of his league, too, for she was such a sunny person, adored by people who took time to know her better. The guards in the mall opened the doors for her, the boy from the computer shop, Adam, would always bring her treats and “peculiar” pieces of technology he wanted to impress her with (God bless him, he tried, but all the attempts would go out of the window because Rose looked daunted of his knowledge and the technobabble Adam would supply her with). The girls in the nail parlour were intimidated by her outgoing personality and uncommon beauty, John could tell. They also didn’t like sharing their popularity. Shareen Costello wasn’t, though, that John knew all too well for the girl with the coffee-coloured skin and wild curly hair radiated power, exotic beauty and confidence – and, most importantly, she was friends with Rose and both the girls respected and valued their friendship greatly. 

The ladies from the travelling agency were just witches, really, who fed on everyone’s insecurities. Somehow, they thought they were on the high horse just because they weren’t nail ladies, or guards, or weren’t working in the chippy outside. 

John couldn’t care less. The nail lady he was going to court was brilliant. 

And she didn’t make him feel inadequate and unpopular. On the contrary, Rose was a perfect listener who was actually interested in what John had to say. 

The only problem was that she was reluctant to talk about herself, even after he asked her to try once again. John knew that Rose lived with her mum, her best mate was Shareen, she was single (thank God!) and went into the beauty school after giving into her mother’s coaxing. 

Something was missing, but John could try to be a patient man. Not that he was great at being patient, not at all. 

But it seemed to him that the bottle blonde girl waiting for the late bus beside him was worth trying to be composed for. 

It was properly chilly when the bus arrived, and John repeatedly tried offering Rose his woollen suit jacket, yet she wouldn’t agree at all. She smiled brightly and pointed to the arriving vehicle. “‘s alright, John, – Rose put a gentle hand on his forearm, and his eyes followed the movement closely. Rose was touching him, and willingly, no less! Did that mean she was as invested as he was? Oh, how hard it was to stay patient! – ‘s not cold at all, and I like getting all the fresh air that I can. Not all offices are supplied with air conditioning in the sweltering mall,” there was that captivating smile again, the one where Rose touched the tip of her tongue to her teeth. 

John blushed extensively and raised his right hand to rub the back of his neck. He really wanted to say something nice but the bus stopped; the doors opened, and Rose squeezed his forearm, said cheery “Thank you for walking me to the bus” and jumped through the bus doors. 

Huh. 

John stared at the tail lights of the retreating vehicle and muttered “You’re welcome” to no one in particular. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are very much appreciated (and I swear I can never spell the word "appreciate" correctly from the first try, ha-ha).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fluff, people, plain and simple. John finally learns Rose's phone number - there is a prospect of a date, too.  
> Thank you for reading and commenting, that is so nice of you <3

Sunday morning greeted John with heavy grey skies that were swollen with water. Rain pitter-pattered on his windowsill none-too-gently, and, instead of lulling him, the sound of the raindrops hitting the metal surface startled him from a lovely dream he had about Rose. 

John flopped back on the bed and covered his eyes with his left arm. There went his plans for the outing... A rainy day wasn’t the best day for a date outside but he could always ring Rose up and offer to accompany him to some cosy café. 

Rose might have clients this Sunday but she might also be willing to spend an evening with him. She said she liked him, didn’t she? 

John stretched his arms to reach the phone on the night stand. The movement was ungraceful and knocked out his specs, several paperback books and a photo frame off the surface. The photo frame didn’t crack due to its plastic case. 

It wasn’t the first time John scattered his belongings on the floor in a haste to turn off the alarm on the phone. Nor it would be the last. 

The man squinted at the screen and then blinked stupidly for several moments. Blast it! He didn’t have Rose’s phone number as he hadn’t asked her for it. 

Stupid, stupid him. They spent so much time at the chippy, and he didn’t have enough brain matter to ask Rose for her number. 

Damn! 

John sighed and grunted while getting up from the bed. He stood near his bed for several minutes before he stretched and decided to cheer himself up by visiting the local library. Today would be the day of the new arrivals, and John felt excited at the prospect of looking through some of his favourite magazines. He loved _National Geographic_ and _The Law Society Gazette_ along with _Legal Business Magazine_ and didn’t think it wise to spend money on those if he could wait a little and read them at the library. Some would call him a tightwad, some would call him old-fashioned, others would shrug and say that his decision was a sensible one in the continuing crisis happening in the world. Better to save than to spend. 

Having agreed with himself on the day’s agenda, John nodded and set his course on the kitchen and started his way in sure stride. He tripped over the paperback of “The Girl on the Train” before he reached the doorway, though. 

~ 

Monday morning was no better than the previous one. The water fell from the sky in vicious downpour and assaulted the mad ones who went into the streets unprepared – without umbrellas, that is – and the wind tried to seep into the leather jackets and coats that people protected themselves with. 

If John didn’t know better, he’d say that the heatwave that was present in the city past week was a shared massive hallucination of all the Londoners. 

John sat behind his desk and listened to the laments of one of his clients. Something about the office the lady shared with the other tenant. The pipes in the office blew up one night when the other co-habitant forgot to turn off the radiator that stood near the pipes. John didn’t think it was possible, really, but if that was the truth, the lamenting tenant had all the rights to refuse from paying for the damage in the office. 

He murmured “Dear God, save me from this dullness!” and when his interlocutor exclaimed a surprised “What?!” John shook himself and listed the days available for consultation. Nodding to himself (his opponent couldn’t see John’s vigorous gestures from the phone), he agreed to meet with Mrs. Snood on Thursday afternoon, right after lunch. 

He didn’t have an opportunity to speak with Rose, even when the lunch break arrived. The thing was, his and Rose’s lunch breaks were never held at the same time. His was from 2 to 3 p.m. while hers was from 4 to 5. John wondered and worried about her not having enough time to relax and eat properly (what with the 10 hours shift), and wished to spend some more time with the object of his love-filled thoughts. 

The Universe, however, was deaf to his anxieties and wishes. 

However, John was a very optimistic man, and he was waiting (im)patiently for the end of both his and Rose’s shifts. 

He could offer her to go somewhere nice to have a hot cup of tea to end the working day with. Hm... what kind of tea did Rose prefer? Black tea? Green tea? How much sugar did she add? Did she like her tea with milk or maybe with a nice dollop of honey? 

You can say a lot about the person by the way they like their cuppa. 

John made a bet (again, with himself) about what kind of tea Rose drank. He thought black (probably Earl Grey), with milk and no sugar. Huh. John preferred Earl Grey, too, and he always put the sugar generously (driving his mother insane: “John, you’ll die before you’re forty if you keep consuming sugar in such quantities! It’ll be the biggest and the quickest case of diabetes if you don’t reign your sugar consumption in!” 

John rolled his eyes in exasperation as the imagined voice of his mother scolded him in his mind. 

He went to eat out on his lunch break at his favourite café just opposite the mall. John could opt for the restaurants and smallish cafés in the mall but he was a loyal customer of the _Blue Box_ and enjoyed the homey atmosphere there. Also, he didn’t like the hustle and bustle of the shopping centre and the never-ending stress of having to eat fast while other poor hungry souls were staring at his back, burning a hole in his head with their irritated glares. 

So, naturally, John went to the _Blue Box_. He thought himself rather smart and considerate when he bought a pink-frosted doughnut with raspberry filling for Rose and a bottle of water in addition to it. 

“Do you want to charm the girl of your dreams? Provide her with sweets” was John’s infallible motto. 

He only hoped Rose was a fan of sweets. 

~ 

John’s blonde object of adoration smiled at his gesture and accepted the treat greedily while asking how much she owned him. The brown-haired lawyer just swatted his right hand at the air while uttering “My treat”. Rose smiled with her generous lips. John’s breath hitched. She drawled out “Oh, that’s so sweet!” and he burst out “Is it? Is it too sweet? Don’t you like sweets?” and then blushed to the tips of his ears when he realised that it was his gesture Rose was describing. 

He felt like a complete idiot and thought that, for sure, Rose would twist her index finger at her temple and call him a basket case and move on with her life, leaving John behind. 

She, however, smiled toothily and thanked him for the treat happily and went on with her working day (the doughnut would have to wait until the next 20-minute break between the clients). 

~ 

The rain turned into deluge forty minutes before the end of the working day. John swore profusely as his hopes of a nice stroll to the café with Rose melted away (he was sure Rose wouldn’t want to spend more time outside than was necessary and his spirits turned gloomy at the prospect of a ruined outing. 

This time, his prayers didn’t fall upon deaf ears. 

The Universe had something good to give to John Smith. 

~ 

“Oi!” Rose exclaimed as her hot pink umbrella gave up and turned inside-out in the mad waterfall that continued even after the shifts were done. The particularly vicious gust of wind made the pink umbrella’s metallic carcass snap in several places, rendering it useless against the endless and cruel drops of rain. 

Rose groaned miserably. There went three pounds for the blasted thing. She should have bought something of better quality, really, but she needed all the pounds and pennies she could save. 

However, there was no chance of her getting home by bus and walking 7 minutes to the house without catching a cold. 

Janet the manager would kill her. 

Layla the manager would be more compassionate, but would scold her nevertheless. 

Marvellous. 

Rose emitted a very emotional and tired “Fuck!” and felt someone’s presence behind. She turned around and wished to fall through the ground when she saw it was John. 

He would surely drop any of his adorable attempts at speaking to her. No doubt, such refined bloke wouldn’t want a girl who could swear like a sailor hanging off his arm. 

Bloody hell! 

John, however, smiled amicably and offered Rose his big sturdy brown umbrella with a curved handle. It was vintage-looking and quite sexy, if you asked her. 

Rose beamed and thanked him, and for a precious moment John felt as if he had two hearts – so mad was the staccato of his single one, enjoying the opportunity to be the perfect gentleman for Rose. 

She wove one of her hands around the arm he offered. Very Jane-Austen-like. 

They shared the umbrella while walking to the bus stop (Rose persistently refused to let him drive her to her place, and he couldn’t understand why, really). John noticed that Rose was shivering and stamping her feet, almost tap-dancing on the gleaming asphalt. 

He hurriedly shucked off his long brown coat (if Rose were someone else, he’d hesitate before giving away his beloved coat, even if only temporary), but this was Rose. Remember? The starring role in his romantic dreams? 

Rose’s hair was wet and clang to her round cheeks, the mascara-ed lashes were sticking together and left black dots above and beneath her eyes, her cheeks were pink from the wind – and John swore he had never seen anyone so charming and attractive before in his life. Jeanne who? 

He had Rose. Well, he hoped that he would have the opportunity to call Rose his girl one day. 

The duo was silent as they were waiting for Rose’s bus to come. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not at all; the rain and the clouds and the sounds of the puddles disturbed by the racing cars created the atmosphere of quiet contemplation in the loudness of the nature. The streetlamps were glowing twice as bright because of the watered reflections on the roads, and the wind played with the wires and the newspaper pages forgotten by someone on the bus stop bench. 

Suddenly, John spilled: 

“Oh! Rose! Can I have your number? That is...to invite you somewhere interesting, yes, not that you have to agree to go somewhere with me, but what if we need to be in touch? For emergency cases, that is. And, of course, we might go somewhere, too, but only if you want to, of course...not that you have to...” 

Rose laughed heartily and stopped him from babbling further. She opened the lapels of his coat and rummaged through the pockets of her own denim jacket. After a few moments of silent struggling, she procured a pink laminated card and presented it to John. 

_Rosie Nails_

_Rose M. Tyler_

_07911 456023 Cell_

John arched one eyebrow. “Rosie Nails?” 

Rose giggled and smiled sheepishly. “My mum’s doing. She was so excited when I finished the beauty school and gave manicure to my first client, she went a little overboard and ordered 500 laminated cards in pink. I’m glad the glitter cost additional fee and she decided not to add it – too expensive - otherwise I’d die of embarrassment every time I gave my card to someone. I love pink, but bubble-gum pink with glitter and my info in cursive just seems...too much to take in.” 

John shook his head in wonder and accepted the pretty card. He wouldn’t have given a damn if the cards were made in hot pink with neon letters (no matter how horrid and ugly that sounded) if it meant he’d have Rose’s number. 

When the bus appeared in the view, Rose tried to pull off his coat but John stopped her with his hands. She was positively flustered when he didn’t accept his umbrella back, too, insisting that he had a car that would bring him straight to his door. 

That evening, the knight in the shining armour John received his reward from the beautiful damsel Rose – a tender kiss on the cheek. 

And he learnt her homing pigeon’s number, too. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet gestures and revelations. Pure unadulterated fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, wonderful people! Thank you for reading and for your comments and kudos. It's a pleasure writing this story, really. Never knew I would enjoy writing something in the style of a rom-com.

The rest of the week went by in a flurry of events. The lady from the office with the blown pipes came to see John, and, to his great surprise, her complaints were legit. He was never this grateful for the existence of cameras – just a few snaps from the damaged office were enough to build the case of protection for Mrs. Snood. Boring, yes. Successful? Also, yes. John needed to remember why he chose this career and why he chose not to use his relatives’ help in establishing a fancier office with fancier clients and, therefore, fancier things to buy with the money earned.

He worried about Louise, however, as she hadn’t been answering his calls for the past few days when he phoned to update her on the divorce case. Maybe she was still out of town.

Maybe she started having second thoughts.

Now, that would be problematic. John wasn’t a novice and knew of the cases when the weaker side of the conflict would give up their cases because they were bullied or threatened by the stronger (wealthier) opponent. Louise was meek and gentle-hearted enough to get scared of Charley’s attempts to make her call off the loud and messy divorce and the deserved compensation in tow.

John huffed. As if!

The first hearing was uneventful considering the absence of the divorcees during the process. John preferred dealing with divorces that way – without the ex-husband and ex-wife to be present in the court room. The cases took longer but the emotional health of both John and his clients was more important. “Per aspera ad astra”, kept reminding himself John when his parents would shake their heads at his antics and the wish to find his own way in life. 

You see, John had this wonderful inheritance from his great-grandfather that would fall into his bank account when John would marry. He had the perfect opportunity not to work tirelessly in the small office of his, providing for those who couldn’t afford better lawyers. All he had to do, in fact, was to find a suitable bride and get married and work another six odd months before the money were his. That large sum of money was a secret known only to the closest family members – and no one outside the family circle knew about that. To the society, the Smiths were a cluster of well-provided people, and this was all due to their hard work. Well, it was truth. Partially. The other part was that John’s great-grandfather left him a substantial sum of money that grew exponentially with years gone by and it was planned to drop into John’s account six months into his marriage.

John smiled as he fixed the glasses that slid down his nose while he was perusing the papers concerning the Chatterley case. Rose would be pleasantly surprised when she realised that she wouldn’t need to worry about working without days off anymore. He imagined in vivid colours how he would ask her to take at least one more day off the week for them to spend time together, and how delightfully shocked Rose would be when John would rent her a pretty office for her to work privately without the ominous presence of managers, and how he would sneak into her working space on his day off to steal a kiss or two while the unsuspecting clients would be waiting for the nail varnish to dry...

John dropped the stack of papers he was taking from the cabinet on the floor, gasping when he realised what he was doing.

He was daydreaming. About Rose being his wife and accepting his courting and about their marriage bliss when they hadn’t even had their first official date, for God’s sake!

John groaned loudly, and the girls in the nail parlour, who were able to see him dropping the files on the floor, raised their eyebrows in mild amusement at his quirks.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. He fucking went and forgot that the door to his office was open and the whole bloody mall could see and hear him being ridiculous in the throes of his crush.

He looked over the people in the mall, scowled at the ladies in the travelling agency and shook his head at them as if inquiring “What? What are you staring at?” and then his gaze dropped to the girls in the nail parlour.

On Rose in particular. Her brows were furrowed in confusion at his antics and she mouthed “You alright?” in that soft Cockney accent of hers that he swore he could hear. 

He nodded vigorously and started collecting the papers scattered on the floor. When he turned his eyes to look at Rose again, she still had that worried look in her eyes, like she was well and truly anxious about him. Strangely enough, it didn’t irritate him. He felt oddly warm and comforted at her care although he usually hated it when his family or girlfriends fussed over him in.

Well, it seemed that Rose was different. John didn’t care if that sounded cheesy and cheap and reminded him of the book tropes found in the section “ladies’ novels” in the old library he frequented. Life itself was full of tropes and clichés, after all, and seemed to be flowing following more or less same milestones for all the people. Well, not everywhere. Well, not for everyone. Still, the clichés were there for a reason, and they were loved by the people nonetheless because they were familiar and plain comforting. 

So, what if his near-relationship with Rose were starting off exactly as some well-loved romance novels his grandmother preferred to read by the fireplace?

Clichés were good.

John sniffed, straightened and smiled enthusiastically at Rose.

Waved for good measure and mentally scowled.

He was acting like a fourteen-year-old with a crush on a cheerleader who was much, much cooler than him. 

Well, Rose was cooler and more outgoing than he was. Rose the Cheerleader and John the Unpopular Swot. How’s that, huh? Another well-placed cliché.

For a relationship that hadn’t started yet.

Damn.

John really needed to put the end to the never-ending uncertainty and just ask Rose out. It’s not like she would say “no”, wouldn’t she? She told him she quite liked him, did she not? She did. She was happy when he echoed her words and told her he quite liked her, too. Therefore, it would be perfectly reasonable to ask Rose on a date, you know, official one, flowers, dress code, somewhere nice with a good bottle of wine...

But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t John’s MO. He never really fancied posh parties and restaurants, the “black tie” gatherings, auctions, horse races...okay, horse races were fun sometimes, especially if he went there with Jack and they could snicker at the extravagant hats and outfits of the rich ladies.

So! Nothing too posh. They’ve done the chippy already, and John bloody hated the bus stop for always separating him and Rose in the evenings. In that case, he would drive. That meant no alcohol. But that also meant more time to spend with his date. A small price to pay, really. John could, of course, call the cab for Rose to take her home, but then it wouldn’t be logical to ride with her to her house, right?

And John wanted to see where Rose lived so much! So that he could finally, finally see her home after the working day and pick her up for the future dates (if she agrees to the one that hadn’t happened yet, of course).

Where to, then? The nightclub? He didn’t feel all that happy at thinking about night club as a date location. Still, John heard Shareen and Rose discuss their wild nights out during their breaks, but it all sounded like it was in the past. For Rose, that is. There was gentle wistfulness in her eyes, though, when Shareen would kiss her on the cheek and waggle her eyebrows before fleeting 15 minutes earlier from her shift to spend the night dancing somewhere spectacular. 

Rose never followed her friend. John wondered why. Surely, such a young pretty girl like Rose would be the star of the night anywhere she’d decide to go. 22 was young, too young to hold the sadness in anyone’s eyes.

Yet Rose’s eyes held the quiet sadness in them. Resignation that just didn’t make sense. Yes, she lost her dad at the very young age, and it must have been hard for her, to be raised by a single mother. The money was tight, he supposed – why would Rose work her arse off sans weekends otherwise – but John couldn’t see the reason behind the hopelessness in Rose Tyler’s eyes.

Must be something he didn’t know about.

And didn’t it just make him itchy to learn about that mysterious something.

John puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath through clenched teeth. He was being inconsiderate and plain ridiculous, dreaming about Rose in a wedding dress and stealing covert kisses in her own nail parlour in the future. It simply wouldn’t do.

If he wanted some of these fantasies to come true, he needed to do something about it. First things first, John would invite her on a date. Something smooth and not posh not to make himself uncomfortable. Surely, Rose wouldn’t mind? He had just the place for the perfect easy-going first date. He bet she’d love it.

Now, he needed to ask Rose out. Yes. Ask her out. Choose a date. It was Friday, and he’d be working tomorrow, too, and Rose, of course, but the place he had in mind wouldn’t be opened at 9 p.m.

Therefore, the only day that could be available was Sunday. 

John prayed Rose would be free to go on a date with him.

Now, however, he needed to try Louise’s phone, again, and look through the documents concerning her divorce.

Those would be the longest three hours fifteen minutes in his life, he could swear. Never had the working days seemed to drag that long.

Never had he had someone to wait for him after work, after all. 

John ruffed his hair, organising them into the perfect mess the ladies seemed to enjoy (did Rose enjoy it, too, he wondered), stole a glance at Rose who was working carefully with her client’s nails and scorned himself for having attention span of a three-year-old.

He sighed and called Louise’s number only for it to go straight to her voicemail.

John honestly hoped she wasn’t backing out.

He pulled out a folder with the case that he was working on along with the Chatterley’s case and willed his mind to engage with it.

Minutes seemed to move faster after that.

~

Rose and John were sitting on a bench near the fountain, both holding paper cups of tea John bought in the _Blue Box_ after the shift in the mall was over. He offered to stay in one of the cosy booths in the café but Rose insisted upon going outside. She lamented at feeling suffocated in the tiny office of the nail parlour even though it was an open one. John looked at the warm glow of the café's interior longingly yet followed her outside.

The things he did for her...

It wasn’t terribly warm but it wasn’t completely pleasant either. The rain wasn’t falling but it was there, suspended in the atmosphere, surrounding the people and buildings and cars in thick mist.

Still, the air was fresh and quite invigorating after the confines of his office, and it felt nice to let the thoughts about the  Chatterleys dissolve into the humidity of the weather.

It turned out that Rose loved _Earl Grey_ but she also loved _London Fog_ with a dash of vanilla syrup to sweeten the bitterness.

“I should have known you’d be the one to drink your tea sweetened. A sweet girl like you just can’t stand the bitterness, eh?” John pulled a face when he read the ingredients in said drink and shuddered a little when he saw “lavender”. Lavender was supposed to scare away the moth, not to be put it into one’s tea...but it was Rose, and he decided not to bollox things up by saying something rude like that. 

They were sitting on the bench, Rose once again  clad into John’s coat and him feeling quite comfortable in his woollen jacket. The advantages of multi layers, you see. The girl of his dreams was warm and toasty  and in his coat , no less, and he didn’t shiver like a homeless puppy every time the wind attacked the streets. 

Rose smiled coyly at his comment and took a careful drink of her tea before sighing gently...

And putting her head on his shoulder.

John froze. This was such a personal and tender gesture, “the head inclining on one’s partner’s shoulder” gesture, and it screamed of trust and affection and oh God, God, he needed to stay very still lest she decided he was jittery and not comfortable enough and...

“John? You alright?” she inquired in that soft lilt of hers.

“Yes!” he swore he didn’t know his voice could go this high.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? - Rose sounded insecure now and started to lift her head from his arm, - I’m sorry, I just...I’ll...”

He panicked.

He snaked his arm around her shoulder.

He held her head in place by putting his palm on her blonde tresses.

It was her time to stay still.

John’s panic rose a hundred times. He realised he was whispering a high-pitched “sorry” again and again and tried to wriggle out of the whole predicament.

Literally.

Only to be stopped by Rose’s fingers on his lips. 

“Shh. ‘s nice. I like it. And you can stay still if you like that, too,” she smiled playfully at him and he gave up all the attempts at breaking their hug.

John smiled and found himself stroking Rose’s hair tenderly, playing with stray locks that fell out of her low bun after the long working shift. 

Rose hummed in appreciation and cuddled closer to him, warming his soul with her presence.

If John Smith were to die that evening, he would die the happiest man on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, then. Thank you for reading. All the mistakes belong to me. Comments make me glow pink from happiness in the dark. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr: deardiary17


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